


The Song of Life

by usakiwigirl



Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Torture, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:37:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usakiwigirl/pseuds/usakiwigirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prisoner on the Valiant, Jack knows he only has to hang on for another month before the Doctor’s plan can be activated. Thoughts of his team - of Ianto - safe on Earth, are what keep him from going insane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Master-ful Plan

**Author's Note:**

> All characters belong to RTD and the BBC, also Stephen Moffat. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> This is the first installment in my longliveianto bingo. The prompt used is First Time Off World. I’m pretty sure I’m taking liberties with it, but hey, it’ll all work out in the end. This is not a happy, fluffy story in the slightest. Be very warned. But it is the first of twenty five (roughly), so they can only get better, right?

“Oh, Freak, do I have something special for you today!” The Master’s voice bounced off the walls of the room where Jack was chained with unholy glee.

Jack just smiled, refusing to show any weakness in front of the deranged Time Lord. Saxon had tried just about everything he could think of, to torture or kill Jack, and all Jack had done was laugh in his face. By keeping the attention on him, Saxon paid less attention to Tish, Clive and Francine Jones, which was the least he could do for Martha, and the Doctor.

He knew he only had to put up with the insanity for another month before the Doctor’s plan came to fruition. The paradox would be settled, the TARDIS freed and this hellish existence would end. What happened after that, he didn’t know. How the Doctor would deal with Saxon - well, he knew what he would do, but he wasn’t the Doctor, who had been alone for so long. He suspected that the Time Lord would try something noble, although personally, he thought that was a mistake. Saxon was insane, no two ways about it.

Maybe Jack would go back to Cardiff, see if the team would take him back - if Ianto would take him back. Thoughts of the tall man had kept him going while he was chained in place, knowing that he was safe in the Hub and away from the Toclafane roaming the world. He didn’t think he could remain impassive in the face of all the torture if Ianto was in danger or worse.

“You are going to love this, Freak. I’ve been looking everywhere for something special for you. I took a little dip into your memories and I found a treat. One Ianto Jones, Archivist for Torchwood. You know I sent the lot of them to Tibet, right? Your boy here saw through me! Don’t know how he managed it, but he stopped them from going! Brilliant man. If he wasn’t an ape, I’d actually like him. Locked them all up in that little base of yours. Of course, no one is as smart as I am. I lured them out, one by one, as practice targets for my children. But your boy, oh, he’s special. I saved him for last.”

Jack’s heart plummeted as Saxon continued to speak, fear coursing through his body. It sounded as if Gwen, Tosh and Owen were dead, killed by the Toclafane for pleasure. It sickened him, but he refused to show it.

Saxon turned to the door, clapping his hands together loudly. “Bring him in!”

Two of the larger Unit guards marched in to Jack’s cell space, each holding the arm of Ianto, who was trying valiantly to remain on his feet. He was no longer wearing a neat suit, but was dressed head to toe in black commando gear, utility trousers tucked into combat boots, black t-shirt that showed off his arms and torso. He was leaner than Jack had seen him for a while, but wirier, with firmer muscles. Jack couldn’t help it - even tied up, he could appreciate a fine form.

Ianto looked up at him, a tired smirk on his face. “Hello, Jack. Didn’t expect to see you hanging around here.”

“Oh, you know me. I only hang about in the highest of places.”

One of the guards, Saxon’s favourite bullyboy, turned abruptly and rammed his fist into Ianto’s gut, forcing the air out in a whoosh. His legs buckled briefly, but Jack was proud of him, when he noted that he locked his knees so that he would remain standing. Ianto said nothing about the hit, instead breathing shallow through the pain. As soon as he was able, he stood straight again, eyeing the guard squarely.

A slow clap from the far side of the room had both Ianto and Jack turning their heads, as Saxon moved back to the centre of the room and stood directly in front of them. “I do like this one, Freak. We’re going to have so much fun together, you and I, Ianto Jones. I think we’re going to get along just fine.” He reached up, touching his fingers to the side of Ianto’s head, a vicious grin on his face.

Jack tugged on his chains, feeling them cut into his skin. He wanted to grab Ianto and shove him out of the way of Saxon, no matter the cost to himself. He knew exactly how much it hurt to have a Time Lord fuck about in his head unasked, with no finesse. The Doctor had done it a time or two, but always with permission, being careful not to do any damage. The Master, on the other hand, didn’t care at all, just leaping in and digging about, leaving psychic scratches and tears that hurt like a mother-fucker.

Ianto’s eyes widened in shock and pain, and his mouth opened in a silent scream. He stiffened for a few seconds, then collapsed in a heap, only the quick hands of the guards preventing him from falling to the ground completely. Saxon laughed as he continued his assault, digging with glee through Ianto’s mind, pulling, twisting and tearing his memories apart.

“Stop! Bastard. What did he do to you? He means nothing to you! It’s me you want, not him. Leave him alone!” Jack shouted, pulling at the chains until blood started to run down his arms.

Saxon finally moved his hand away from Ianto’s head, leaving him slumped between the two guards, unconscious. He’d not made a single sound during his ordeal. “Freak, he means everything to me. Through him, I can get to you. That’s the first time you’ve shown any emotion at all this past year, did you know that?”

He turned back to look at Ianto, reaching out to run a hand down his face, his touch a grotesque parody of a caress. He straightened, then snapped his fingers at the guards. “Bring him.” He walked out, leaving Jack hanging and yelling behind him.

**********

Over the next three weeks, Saxon brought Ianto into Jack’s cell at least once a day, varying his torture to match his mood. Some days, it was merely emotional, with Saxon taunting Ianto with images of Tosh, Gwen and Owen as they were cut down outside the Hub. With his rummaging around in Ianto’s mind, he had also found out about Ianto’s sister and her family, using their deaths to add to the emotional trauma. Ianto, however, refused to let that get him down. He took a page out of Jack’s book, and laughed in Saxon’s face, telling him that they were all better off - at least they were at peace and not in danger.

The physical torture was horrific. Saxon had honed his skills on Jack, and used them to bring Ianto to the brink repeatedly. Jack could do nothing but watch and yell, as Ianto was beaten, cut, and burnt almost to the point of death. Just when Jack thought he couldn’t possibly take any more, Saxon would stop, turning him over to his medics for healing and another day of torture.

The worst days were those that Saxon reserved for mental torture, where he strapped Ianto down to a table and just laid a hand on his face. Unlike the first time, Ianto was no longer able to withstand the onslaught without screaming, his voice - that marvellous, liquid baritone - run completely ragged. Jack thought that Saxon derived the most pleasure from those days, as Ianto yelled the loudest and took far longer to recover each time.

Jack could see his body start to lose weight, the cuts and bruises building up, one on top of the other. He was weaker, both physically and mentally. The day that Jack knew Ianto had given up, was the day Ianto had no witty comeback to one of Saxon’s taunts. Always before, Ianto had managed at least one, at the start of the torture session. This day, however, he said nothing, his eyes dull and listless.

Saxon recognised the same thing, realising that his new favourite plaything was broken beyond repair. He reached for the gun in the holster of the closest guard, pressing it up against Ianto’s head.

“No!” Jack renewed his struggles against the shackles, wrenching his arms painfully as he tried to pull free. He wanted the torment to end, yes, but not with Ianto’s death. He was starting to realise just how much the man meant to him, how he had wormed his way under his skin right from the start. Jack knew that it would be the one thing that was likely to break him and he feared that Saxon knew it, too.

The shot, when it came, was loud enough that Jack felt one of his eardrums rupture. It wasn’t the first time - the others though, had been when the bullet had been aimed in his direction and death had swiftly followed. The pain in his ear, however, was nothing to the pain in his heart, as he saw the small, neat hole in the centre of Ianto’s forehead.

From the front, all was clean, clinical. Only a small trickle of blood seeped from the wound to mar the perfection of Ianto’s face. Jack had seen enough death in the more than one hundred years he’d been alive, however, to know that the back of his head would not be nearly so pristine. The only comfort he could draw - and it was cold, wet, gut-wrenching comfort at best - was that Ianto had not suffered. His death had been instant. Still, that didn’t stop Jack’s heart from tearing itself from his chest and crawling over to lay supine with the cooling body of his lover.

“Well, that’s ruined a perfectly good day, not to mention a lovely suit. I had such high hopes for this young man, but no, just another ape, like the rest of them. I don’t know what he sees in them.” Saxon wasn’t talking to Jack. It was obvious he was going on to himself. The Time Lord really was a few years short of a millennium. “This backwater dump will be better off cleansed. Get rid of the body.”

He swept out of the makeshift torture room without a backwards glance, leaving the cleanup to the two hulking guards. Jack watched them drag Ianto’s corpse carelessly out the door, leaving a trail of blood and worse. He couldn’t do anything but clench his fists in impotent rage and grief. One week. That was all that was left of this miserable existence. One week and the Doctor would be able to put his plan into action and everything would be sorted. One week and his team would have been safe. Now they were all gone and there was nothing he could do about it.

**********

Jack looked around the Plass, stomach in turmoil as he tried to sort out the feelings in his head. The Doctor said that time had scrolled back one year, to the point where the American President had been assassinated onboard the Valiant. Everything that happened after, didn’t. It made Jack’s head hurt to think about - and he’d had a lot of experience with time travel. The only problem, as the Doctor explained it, was that anybody on board the Valiant when time was re-written, would remember the entire year.

End of the World Survivor’s Club, they were calling it. The Jones clan - Tish, Francine, Clive and brave Martha had all come through, scarred, but in one piece. Even his team, apparently. All those that died, miraculously brought back to life. Jack was scared to ask about Ianto. He didn’t know how his body had been handled on the Valiant. If they had treated him with a modicum of respect and ferried it back to Earth. Or maybe incinerated it on board the ship. Or the worst, tossed him overboard as so much carrion. If he had been cremated on board, then there was no hope of seeing him again, Jack knew. But if it were the first, or last option, then it would be as if he had never died at all. Only Jack would be left with the terrible knowledge.

Steeling his nerves, not sure of the welcome he would get, he made his way to the Hub. The silence was deafening as he stood on the platform, slowly descending into the cavernous space below. Myfanwy screeched overhead at the intrusion, but did nothing more than fly a couple of circles. As soon as she saw Jack, she settled back into her eyrie, content that the intruder was somebody she knew. A guard-dog for the Hub, indeed.

There was a lingering aroma of coffee, mixing in with the damp mustiness of the Hub air. Jack’s heart stopped, then re-started with a thump. Did that mean that Ianto was alive? Had he been making coffee for the team? Papers scattered over the desks and rubbish built up belied that thought, as Ianto would never let the work area get so messy. Jack spied a few take-away coffee cups also lying about, which explained away the smell. He could feel his heart break a little at the sight. If the team was drinking takeaway coffee, and allowing their rubbish to pile up… Jack wasn’t raising his hopes that Ianto was alive and well. The evidence just wasn’t supporting that view.

Stepping off the lift, he made his way over towards his office, trailing his fingers over desktops and monitors as he walked. He wanted to pick up the various folders and thumb through them, but decided to wait. He could probably get most of the information he wanted from his computer anyway - provided his access hadn’t been revoked. They wouldn’t, would they?

Taking the stairs two at a time, he headed straight for the office, no longer letting nostalgia guide his movements. Instead, worry was leading the way, directing his steps on autopilot. Pushing open the door to his office, the first thing he noticed was a light sheen of dust over every surface. The second was the clean desk, all of his effects neatly laid out as if waiting for their owner to return. It was obvious that the office had been closed off, unused, but it was also obvious that somebody had been taking care of it up until very recently.

He turned and hanged his coat on the familiar hook, thinking of Ianto the entire time. Booting up his computer, he pulled the files with the mission logs, going through them from oldest to newest. Just as the Doctor had said, everybody was fine, alive and showing no signs of recollecting their time during the Year. It wasn’t until he reached the mission log for the trip to Tibet that he found the information he was most looking for - Ianto’s name, listed as organising the flights for the team and accommodations on the other end.

Bands loosened around his heart, as the gnawing fear eased. Mission after mission, Ianto’s name cropped up more and more frequently. It seemed that Gwen had moved him up from being merely a Support Officer and given him full Field Officer status. It confirmed that which he had always suspected about the man, had seen for himself in his carriage aboard the Valiant. Ianto Jones was a supremely capable individual who was wasted behind the Tourist Counter desk.

Satisfied that he was fully up-to-date with the Team and their activities, he accessed the Rift log, finding for himself their location from the sub-dermal tracking devices they all had imbedded in their hands. Four blinking dots, clustered together on a side street in Whitchurch. He grabbed his coat, checked that his Webley was fully loaded and ran out of the Hub. He had a team to lead, to apologise to - possibly to grovel on the ground at their feet. He also had one tall, dark and positively delicious Welshman with a voice that could ignite Suns to convince that he was back, for good, for him.

**********

Ianto stood facing the Blowfish with his gun held out in front of him, his grip steady as Jack had shown him months ago. Thoughts of his errant lover had his hand wavering for just a moment, as the Blowfish, quite obviously high on illicit substances, taunted him while pressing a gun of his own into the temple of a teenage girl. Ianto knew he could make the shot - he and Jack had practised many such scenarios, and he’d also had quite a bit of training at Torchwood One, although nobody there ever thought they would actually have the chance to use their skills.

He pushed thoughts of Jack firmly to the back of his mind. He was gone, had been gone for three months now and most likely wasn’t coming back. The dreams that haunted Ianto, almost vision-like in their clarity, of Jack hanging in shackles in a pipe-filled cell, which mad eyes and long fingers pressed close to his own face - well, they were just that, dreams. Not memories, because there was no way Ianto would ever forget being beaten bloody on a daily basis, nor would he forget the look of absolute terror and despair on Jack’s face as that madman - _Saxon? Master?_ \- touched his face and tore his brain into shreds. He wouldn’t forget the song that filled his heart when he was at his lowest point, the feeling that _She_ loved him and Jack, and was watching over him/them.

He tightened his grip, preparing to pull the trigger, when a shot rang out. The Blowfish’s head jerked back, blood splattering on the curtain behind it, before it slumped to the ground, quite dead. Ianto jerked his gun in surprise, quickly pulling his finger off the trigger. He hadn’t fired it - he looked at it in shock - no, definitely not him. But the shot had come from behind…

“Hey, kids! Didja miss me?”


	2. To Sleep, Perchance to Dream - or Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the investigation into Cell 114, Ianto has a startling - and painful - revelation

_So…Is that a yes?”_

It had been, although Ianto wasn’t really sure at the time if he was agreeing to the date because he wanted to start up with Jack again, or because it was a way to make him shut up and leave. Ianto could tell that Jack was nervous; he never hemmed and hawed while asking a question. Hell, he never asked at all. It was always just assumed that Ianto would go along with whatever Jack wanted, no questions asked or needed.

Since his return, however, he’d been different. At times colder, when dealing with alien threats or shit the Rift spit out at them, making Ianto wish for the days when he wasn‘t there. Other times, he was quiet, almost depressed. Those were the days that Ianto longed to go to him, to sit with him and just be there, a willing ear or a warm body, whichever was needed more.

The date had still not happened, although not for want of trying on Jack’s part. Ianto was honest enough with himself to admit that the fault for that lay entirely on him. Jack had asked more than once, even going so far as to tentatively set something up, but Ianto kept coming up with reasons to put it off. He just wasn’t ready to jump right back into a relationship, of any sort, with Jack, not immediately. He needed to sort out his head, for one thing. Disturbing dreams - of mad eyes and long fingers pressed against his face, of searing pain in his mind, Jack screaming and begging for it to stop, not to mention physical torture the likes of which he would never wish on his worst enemy - often had him waking in the middle of the night, sweating, his throat burning.

Ianto jerked himself back to the here and now. Nightmares of phantom torturers and Jack screaming would have to wait - shit was hitting the fan, in a messy spray that was bound to leave stains and a residual stink. He stood at the window above the interrogation room and watched Jack and Gwen as they interviewed Beth Halloran, shivers rolling through his body as Jack spoke. There - right there - was the perfect example of the coldness Jack had exhibited since his return. This time, however, Ianto found himself shivering for a different reason.

For the first time since Jack left, his body was reacting in a purely sexual manner. His breathing was faster than normal, he was sweating bullets and he was hard enough to build flat pack furniture. It was taking all his self-control not to rush into the cell, drag Jack out, and push him up against the wall, rutting away like a bull in heat. He refused to let it get to him, however, forcing the feelings down until they’d all but disappeared.

He continued to watch as Jack yelled at Beth, until he finally slammed his way out of the cell, leaving Gwen behind to play Good Cop. He took deep breaths, willing his body to settle. He didn’t wish Jack to see him like this - it was too soon. He wasn’t, however, averse to playing with him just a little. As Jack walked towards him, his mouth open to say something, Ianto stepped in first and cut him off.

“Just us… in this room… for as long as it takes. Terrifying.” He could see Jack’s eyes light up. It was the first time since his return that Ianto had instigated anything even close to the flirting they used to enjoy.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. Shivers down my spine.” Ianto kept his voice as dispassionate as possible, but it was nothing less than the truth, and he let it show in his eyes for a brief second before closing his expression off.

“You don’t look scared.” Jack didn’t sound disappointed as such, but Ianto could hear a note of something in his voice that he couldn’t quite name. A little excited maybe?

“Well, it… passed.” It was all Ianto could do not to laugh at the expression on Jack’s face as he lifted his clenched fist and growled - actually _growled!_ \- before walking away. Ianto watched him walk, his body once again reacting as it used to. Maybe he was ready for that date with Jack now. He’d push for them to take it slow, but a little light - okay, heavy - petting wouldn’t go amiss at this point.

He watched as Gwen brought Beth up from the interrogation room. Her awe at the size of the Hub was almost comical, until she bent down and sniffed at the Rift machinery. He jumped down from where he‘d been tweaking a few wires, the urge to protect that which he worked hard to keep working almost running feral through his blood.

“We don‘t sniff the sub-etheric resonator.” It was somewhat gratifying to see her jump back in alarm. Jack may be sure she was an alien, but her reactions there were pure human.

Owen’s medical tests failing and the lights flickering ominously made him start to second-guess that thought. Before Jack headed down to the Vaults to show off their residents, he took Ianto aside and asked him to find a few pieces of equipment. Ianto headed to Jack’s office and collected a box from the Secure Archives. It was a mark of the trust that Jack had in him, in that he was the only other member of the team who had the codes.

Leaving the box on one of the desks, he ducked back to grab an old camp chair, dragging it over just as Jack returned without Beth.

“You said we weren’t allowed to use that again,” Tosh accused Jack.

“It’s just a mind probe,” Jack replied, his voice cool. The Captain was in charge once again.

“Remember what happened the last time you used it?” Ianto knew he shouldn’t say it - it was just asking for trouble. Still, somebody needed to remind Jack of the possible consequences. It wasn’t always Gwen who stepped up to the task.

“That was different. That species has extremely high blood pressure.” Jack was just a little defensive. Justifiable, Ianto supposed.

“All right. Their heads must explode all the time.” Sarcasm, Ianto‘s natural speaking pattern when talking to Jack, rose to the fore once again.

“Jack, we can’t do this. What if you’re wrong? If she is human, it’ll kill her.” Gwen’s bleeding heart was leading her head. In this particular case, Ianto wasn’t altogether sure that she was wrong. The mess last time had taken him hours to clean.

“I’m not wrong. We have to find out what she is.”

“Take it easy, Jack. Stop at the first sign of trouble.” Tosh spoke for the first time. Her calm voice washed over Ianto, although he couldn’t stop himself from making one last snarky remark.

“Or the first sign of exploding.” He sat in the chair, shaking as if an electric charge was coursing through his body. He got up and moved out of the way as Jack went and grabbed Beth from Gwen, settling her into the chair and securing the straps.

Her face was tight and filled with trepidation as she looked up at Jack. “Will it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Your bedside manner’s rubbish.” Beth’s voice was sarcastic. Ianto couldn’t help but agree with her, though.

“You should see his manners in bed. They’re atrocious!… apparently. So I’ve heard.” Gwen’s voice trailed off as she realised just what she was saying.

“Oh, they are. I remember this one time…” Ianto wasn’t really stepping in to save Gwen. It was more a way to let Jack know that he wasn’t feeling quite as frosty as he had been. His timing could have been better, but really, when was timing ever going to be perfect in Torchwood? For all Ianto knew, he could be dead in the next hour or two. Better to let Jack know now, just in case.

Jack cleared his throat, although Ianto did notice a small, quick smile quirk his lips before he turned back to interrogate Beth. He let out a near silent breath, glad that Jack had taken the hint the right way. Perhaps later, after they sorted out the issue of Beth’s humanity, they could sit down to a nice take-away and a cup of coffee.

He watched with awe as Jack’s questions showed that Beth was, indeed, the alien that he supposed her to be. After taking her down to a cell and making her comfortable, Jack and the team sat down in the remodelled conference room to discuss their next move. Jack explained about Cell 114 and how they worked, leaving Ianto with a sick feeling in his stomach at just how much of the world - and Torchwood - they knew already.

"They know more about this place than I do!” In an uncharacteristic display of temper, he smashed his fist into the table, all eyes on him. “Nobody knows more than I do!”

Ianto stayed behind in the conference room to clean up as Jack and Gwen left to head down to the cells to show Beth just how ‘not-human’ she truly was. His mind was reeling with all of the new information. He pulled in a deep breath as he remembered the change in her arm, the skin morphing into the strange bumps, with lights flashing beneath the surface.

Without conscious thought, the vision changed, the lights floating now in front of his face, while high-pitched, childish voices taunted him. He could see, as if through a transparent barrier, spinning blades and flashing lights cut down Tosh, Owen and Gwen, one after the other, all the while the voices laughing gleefully. He felt sick, dizzy, the conference room and vision blurring together and spinning madly. An overwhelming urge to empty his stomach, to curl up as small as possible and just die swept through him, his hands convulsing as he reached for _something_ to hold onto.

He could feel the world closing in, blackness overlaying all, before a sweet song and caress seemed to fill his mind, driving out the nausea and pain, the despair, the visions. All that remained was a feeling of peace and love.

He shook his head, straightened his suit and picked up the rubbish and dirty cups. It was time to see how Jack was going to deal with Cell 114.

\----------

Ianto carefully closed the door to the cryogenic vault numbered 007. He felt some small irony in the number - a spy housed behind a spy’s iconic number. Still, it was never easy closing the door, especially as Beth was like Tommy, still breathing, still alive. He turned to Gwen, giving her a long look, then offered her his arm as they walked away. He could see the misery in her face. He wasn’t one to offer meaningless words of comfort, but he hoped that she was able to get some measure of peace from his presence.

He handed her off at the bottom of the stairs to the Hub proper, patting her gently on the back as she turned to walk away. His thought was to head to the kitchen to make a round of coffee, but a stray brush against his hip gave him pause.

“Damn.” He muttered softly to himself. He’d left the stopwatch downstairs near the vaults. He turned back and retraced his steps, cursing his foolishness. It was just a stopwatch, nothing fancy or life threatening. It wasn’t as if it was his gun, for instance. Still, he loved the bloody thing, and the memories it evoked. If he really was ready to let Jack back into his life, he might just want to have it handy.

He spied the stopwatch sitting on a small table just outside the entrance to the vaults. Grinning, he reached out and picked it up, fingers caressing the old, worn metal lovingly. As he dropped it back into his pocket, the lights around him flickered, just a quick dim, but enough to catch his attention. It was very reminiscent of the power surges that had run through the Hub systems before Beth was frozen.

He turned quickly back towards the vaults, one hand reaching for his gun, the other up to his ear for his comm. Both hands came up empty.

“Fuck.” His eyes strained to make out the vaults. The lights were burning low, the ancient bulbs not liking the surge and fighting to stay lit. He could just make out the drawer that he had closed on Beth’s frozen form - now swinging open and the tray pushed out. He couldn’t be sure without moving closer, but he thought it might be empty. He wasn’t about to investigate without backup, however, not when he wasn’t armed.

He swung his body back towards the Hub, taking only two quick steps before a sudden sharp pain coursed through his body. He heard, rather than felt, the bones in his neck snap before everything went black, his body falling to the cold concrete.

\----------

_Dark… cold… pain… can’t breathe… can’t… can’t…_

Ianto dragged in a ragged, gasping breath, his arms flailing and colliding with the solid concrete floor painfully. He could feel the bones in his neck shift, realigning and straightening, his body shuddering as he heard the grinding. Confusion lasted only a few seconds; he’d watched Jack resurrect before he left and his eidetic memory provided him with the necessary information to process exactly what was now happening. Panic, on the other hand, took a little longer to flee. His heart was thumping out a rhythm that any DJ would kill for, and while it was reassuring - his heart was _beating!_ \- it was also disconcerting, to say the least.

He was dead, or rather, had been dead. His neck broken, presumably by Beth as she escaped the Vaults.

“Shit.” It was harder to speak than he thought. He wondered how Jack managed. Years of practice, maybe? Rolling quickly to his feet, and tipping his head from side to side to ease out the residual kinks, he took off at a run for the main area of the Hub. The rest of the team - Jack - were alone with no idea of the danger. He knew he needed to talk to Jack about what had happened, but it would have to wait. He was alive - for now.

\----------

Jack saw him coming with the antenna in his hand and fled. Coward. Ianto had tried to keep his expression neutral, but his face must have betrayed him. Duct tape! Of all the hare-brained ideas and schemes - Ianto wondered if Jack even thought beyond the immediate need for communication. Granted, it was a brilliant idea to use a CB radio, one that Tosh with all her brilliance had not thought of. Neither had he, in all honesty, which was a bit embarrassing. On the other hand, he had enjoyed taunting Owen. For a smart man, he had been remarkably obtuse about the whole ‘there is no way to reach them’ spiel that Tosh had given him.

Of course, Owen had paid him back by suggesting they all have sex when the possibility of South Wales exploding had been very real. Not that Owen was aware of it, but Ianto’s day hadn’t exactly been a barrel of laughs, what with dying and all, so Owen’s idea just made the end of the world that much worse.

Now, however, with Beth finally dead by Torchwood, Gwen grieving the loss of humanity while still itching to shoot Jack herself - such a complicated woman - and the others finished with clean up and reports, Jack was making shooing motions with his hands, telling them all to leave. Owen and Gwen wasted no time, Gwen only shooting death glares at Jack twice before hurrying out the wheeled door, while Tosh took a few moments longer to shut down her systems before bidding them both a quiet farewell.

Ianto moved about the open spaces, bin bag in one hand, while the other was busy picking up the day’s detritus. Like paperwork, he swore it bred in the darkness, multiplying behind his back to create a never-ending cycle of work. He’d already made a sweep of the desks twice during the day, yet judging from the amount he was currently hauling in his left hand, it looked like it had been a week since his last walk through. Job finished, he tied off the bag and dropped it with the others to take to the incinerator. His eye fell on the antenna again, lying where he’d left it on one of the desks as he’d made a mad grab for his weapon when Beth had taken Gwen hostage.

He picked it up, pulling absently at the leftover pieces of duct tape that were still stuck to the base. His mind noted the sticky residue, which dragged him back to the SUV and his reaction when he first removed it. Cold fury had settled in his stomach as he viewed the mess left behind on the paintwork. It would take hours and industrial-strength solvent to remove the residue, and he could only do it with his fingers crossed that the paintwork wouldn’t be damaged beyond repair. He’d have to test it in an inconspicuous place first, which would add to the workload required for the job.

He turned to Jack’s office, determined to go over the matter in person. Jack might have escaped his attention earlier, but he couldn’t now. Stepping purposefully to the office, Ianto made his way up the stairs and entered, hard words already on his tongue. At the first sight of Jack, however, his voice died, leaving him standing in the doorway with an antenna in one hand and a feeling of helplessness sweeping through him.

Jack was wearing a different shirt than the one he’d started the day in. Ianto’s quick glance around the room showed the dark blue from earlier, with a suspicious stain on the front. The white vest he customarily wore beneath showed more evidence, the bright red glaring at Ianto from across the office in silent accusation.

Jack was sitting in his chair, his head in his hands, hair sticking up between his fingers. It was obvious he was hurting, his shoulders were hunched and Ianto could feel tension radiating from him in waves. He didn’t have a lot of experience with Jack’s inability to stay dead, other than what he’d seen before he’d run off, or what he’d been able to surmise from John Hart’s unwelcome visit, but it was obvious that death, quite literally, took a lot from Jack. His own recent experience - and he really did need to talk to Jack about that - had left him feeling drained and achy, his head pounding.

“Jack… You, ah, you look like shit.” As opening statements went, it left a little to be desired. Ianto slapped himself mentally for being an insensitive bastard.

Jack raised his head and put on his best Captain Jack smile, all teeth and no substance. Ianto stared back, one eyebrow barely raised in disapproval. The smile fell off Jack’s face, replaced instead with weary resignation. He sighed, a long exhalation of breath that Ianto swore he could feel waft across his face, even across the distance of the office.

“You died.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact. “When?”

“I didn’t, not this time - but it was close. The Sleeper agent managed to stick me and yeah, before you say anything, it hurt like fuck. Gwen was able to stop the bleeding, but I’ve been fighting the effects of blood loss since. It would probably have been better if I had died. Still painful, but the recovery would be faster.”

“Bullshit. I saw you after John Hart pushed you off the building. Dying takes just as much out of you as injury.” Ianto moved further into the room, walking around Jack’s desk and stopping to lean back against the worn surface.

“But death heals the wounds.” Jack lifted his shirt to show a scabbed over wound on his left side, just below the bottom of his ribs. The skin around it was the fresh pink of new cells, but Ianto could still see a raw redness to the injury itself. He dropped the antenna on the desk behind him and reached out a shaky hand to trace the line of the stab wound, fingers barely touching Jack’s warm skin. Jack let out a shaky breath as Ianto trailed his fingers higher, stopping a hand’s breadth above to lay his palm flat against the skin, the reassuring thrum of Jack’s heart pulsing beneath it.

Jack laid his own hand over the top of Ianto’s, trapping it between hand and chest, his voice mixing with the steady beat as he spoke.

“I’m okay, Ianto. Still here, still breathing, still beating.”

“Still hurting.”

“Yeah, but I’ll live. Tomorrow it will be just a scratch and the day after that, not even a scar.”

“What about now? The exhaustion?” Ianto tugged gently on his hand, disappointment flooding through him when Jack acceded and let go.

“Cup of coffee, maybe a couple of hours lying down - it’ll sort itself.” He could tell that Jack was putting on a brave face for him, even though he knew that Jack knew he hated the fake public persona.

“Right. I’ll… start in on that coffee, then.”

If that was the way Jack wanted to play it, then Ianto would go along. He stood straight and made his way around the desk towards the door, the antenna forgotten. Jack’s weary voice behind him made him stop and turn.

“Ianto… thanks. For asking, for caring… for everything.”

It wasn’t often he heard such open honesty in Jack’s voice. He nodded slightly in response, not sure what to say, then continued on his way to the kitchen. It wasn’t until he started work on the coffee for Jack that he realised that he’d forgotten both reasons for heading to his office in the first place: the antenna with the disconcertingly sticky residue, with subsequent bollicking that he’d meant to give Jack, along with the probably more important piece of information that he might - just might - be suffering from the same condition as his Boss.

He pursed his lips in thought as the coffee poured. _Tomorrow_. Jack was in no condition to discuss either issue tonight, so he’d bring it to his attention in the morning. He wasn‘t happy with the idea of keeping secrets from Jack again, but this particular piece of information required a little delicacy to broach.

So yes - Rift permitting, of course - he’d talk to Jack in the morning. Alternatively, as soon as he was able to dredge up the courage. Whichever came first - maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second instalment in my longliveianto bingo on lj. The prompt used is Episode Tag and Missing Scenes. I am hoping that by putting up the completed chapters, I will get my arse in gear, and finish the blasted thing!


	3. We'll Sleep When We're Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares are keeping Ianto from sleeping. He’s exhausted, and frustrated - and he still hasn’t talked to Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt used for this chapter is Sleeplessness/Insomnia from my longliveianto bingo.

_“You died.”_

Ianto sat bolt upright in his overlarge bed, the sheets tangling his legs and sweat cooling rapidly on his back. The words in his dream - his nightmare - echoed soullessly in his head, repeating endlessly. At first, he saw Jack, obviously hurt and tired, sitting behind his desk after dealing with Cell 114. The bloody evidence of his mission was crumpled in the corner of his office, giving mute testimony to the violence done upon his person.

Overlaying this was another, messier image. Again, it was Jack, this time hanging from chains and covered in blood and worse in a hot and dirty boiler room, pipes steaming and groaning all around. He could see despair in Jack’s eyes, hear him scream - _No!_ \- and his heart clenched in sympathetic agony.

As if all this wasn’t enough, he could see his own body, dirty and bloody, thin and malnourished, and quite obviously dead, at Jack’s feet. The picture soon changed, to show him pristine in a neat suit, no evidence of death except for the unnatural angle of his head, as he lay crumpled on the floor of the Vault in the Hub.

It was hardly possible, but he started to sweat more, while shivering and shaking, as he watched himself gasp back to life, limbs flailing madly. He could _see_ , and _feel_ the bones in his neck straighten and knit, he could _hear_ the grinding sound as they moved against each other.

He lifted both hands to his neck, desperate to feel for himself if his bones were aligned correctly. He pushed, poked and probed between the tendons, finally determining that he was, indeed, whole and alive.

As the visions melted away, he flopped backward onto the bed. The nightmares had woken him every night for three weeks, and then only after falling into a fitful sleep just as dawn was threatening to break. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take before exhaustion caused him to lose focus in the field, putting the rest of the team’s lives in danger.

He knew that it was partially his own fault - okay, more than partially. He still had not talked to Jack about what happened down in the Vaults. How Beth had somehow caught him from behind and snapped his neck, sending him crashing to the floor. He wanted to, oh, how he wanted to. But what could he say?

_“Excuse me Sir, I think I might have contracted your issue with mortality. Are you sure it’s not sexually transmitted?”_

Somehow, he didn’t really think that would go over too well. After all his careful flirting with Jack during the Cell 114 investigation, letting him know that he was now ready to start rebuilding their relationship, he’d pulled back completely, refusing to start - or finish - anything with Jack. The hurt in Jack’s eyes was palpable, causing Ianto’s traitorous heart to bleed, but he persisted.

He could do nothing about the physical reaction his treacherous body continued to display every time Jack got a little too close. It seemed that once his body remembered, it was completely unwilling to forget again. If he so much as caught a whiff of Jack’s scent as he walked past, he would be hard for many long minutes, forced to hide or flee until he could regain control and his dignity.

He rolled out of bed, scrubbing his hands through his hair before making his way to the bathroom. Splashing water on his face helped clear some of the cobwebs, although he could feel the spiders still spinning madly behind his eyes. He wanted a shower, a piss and a coffee, not necessarily in that order.

He took care of his immediate bathroom needs, then wandered to his kitchen to brew a quick cup. As he waited for the water to heat, he absently tidied the few items left out to dry from the night before. He could feel lassitude creeping through his body as he picked up a sharp knife, and wasn’t really surprised when he dropped it. What was surprising, was the quick burst of pain across his hand, as he automatically made a grab for the falling utensil.

He watched, somewhat dispassionately, as blood welled up from the long cut across his palm. It was as if he was watching someone else lose the very essence of life. He put his hand under the faucet, running cool water over it to clear away the blood. At that point, pain began to radiate through his hand, shooting rapid bursts along his nerves and up his arm. The blood wouldn’t stop flowing, instead washing down the drain in a crimson stream.

He could barely make out the gash through the blood, but fuck, it looked deep at first glance. His knees buckled as he watched the blood continue to flow. It wasn’t enough to kill him, nor was it bad enough that he needed to call for help, but it would probably be prudent if he wrapped it up and took himself to work, before having Owen look at it at some point during the day.

Wrapping a clean tea towel around his hand, he rummaged through the cupboard where he housed his medical kit. It used to be small - just the basics like plasters and a thermometer. These days, he kept something a bit more intense. Sterile gloves, multiple bandages and gauze pads, even a needle and thread that he hoped to God he’d never have to use. He grabbed a handful of gauze and a compression bandage, awkwardly winding it around his hand and securing it.

Knowing that he still needed to shower, he grabbed more supplies so he could replace the dressing before he pulled on his suit. He stumbled to the bathroom, exhaustion still controlling his moves to a degree, and turned on the water. It only took a few minutes for steam to start filling the room, so he shucked his pyjama pants and climbed under. He washed to the best of his ability, using one hand, and keeping the injured one out of the water as much as possible. He decided against washing his hair - it would just have to wait.

He felt much more awake after the shower, so hurried in to the bedroom and selected the day’s attire. Hand freshly dressed, he pulled out a dark grey pinstripe suit, with a deep purple shirt and maroon tie. Except he couldn’t manage the tie, with his hand awkwardly wrapped. He folded it the best he could and tucked it into a pocket - not ideal, but good enough to get him to work and to ask for help. Jack would do it, although Ianto wasn’t relishing having to explain the injury to him, or the exhaustion behind it.

It was still early when he stepped out of his flat. The sky was only just beginning to lighten, leaving the heavens above glowing an ethereal dark blue, not quite navy, that never failed to make him dream of being an artist, or a photographer, or _something_ that would allow him to capture that magic for all time. He decided to walk to work, knowing that the slight chill in the air would help to reinforce the shower in chasing away his exhaustion. Stopping at a small café for coffee and a pastry didn’t hurt, either.

The Hub was dark when he walked in, with only the glow from the Rift manipulator lighting the open spaces. He moved directly to the kitchen, determined to start the coffee. No matter what time he came in, or how silent and dark the Hub was, Jack never failed to make an appearance within minutes of his arrival. If he were going to ask for help, a little liquid encouragement would certainly not go amiss.

Sure enough, he heard the steady thump of boots on metal steps within minutes of starting the coffee machine. He could smell the man long before he actually pressed himself into the tight space, the pheromones doing their job and leaving him aching for Jack. He chanced a quick glance over his shoulder, surprised to see concern writ large across Jack’s face. Normally, there would be a large smirk, or a careful smile, depending on how much Jack thought he needed to work on Ianto’s iron will.

Near as Ianto could tell, Jack had not seen his hand carefully wrapped, so he really wasn’t sure why Jack looked so worried. Pulling in a deep breath, he turned carefully, still keeping his injured hand out of the way and hopefully out of sight.

“Jack… Sir. Coffee?” He kept his voice even as he asked what was a fairly redundant question. Jack always wanted coffee.

“Please. Ianto… you okay?” Jack was offering an olive branch, or a way for Ianto to open a discussion that he‘d been avoiding.

“Yep.”

Sudden anger flared in Jack’s eyes, before he masked it again with the concern. “Bullshit. You’ve been in here at this time every day for the last three weeks, which is early even for you.” He reached around Ianto’s body and grabbed the injured hand, ignoring the wince that flashed across Ianto’s face. His other hand came up to poke Ianto a little too firmly at the base of his throat, where the knot of his tie would normally lie. “Something’s wrong. You’re injured and you aren’t wearing a tie.”

Ianto sighed. He really didn’t feel like fighting this any longer. Making a quick decision, he looked Jack directly in his eyes. “Let me finish this and bring it up to your office. I need to talk to you.”

Jack raised his eyebrows just enough to let Ianto know he wasn’t entirely sure he was buying the sudden acquiescence. Ianto held the gaze, never flinching or dropping his eyes. Finally, Jack released his hand and stepped back.

“You sure you don’t need a hand? I can stay and help you carry the cups.”

Ianto thought for just a moment, then nodded. It was probably a good idea. He didn’t really think he could manage both cups in one hand, and balancing a tray in one hand was a skill best left to the well rested. He turned back and swiftly prepared two cups, glad that it was a business easily managed with one good working hand, with a little help from a near useless lump of wadded bandage.

Coffee made, he passed one cup to Jack, then took hold of his own cup. In silence, they made their way to Jack’s office, both of them taking a large sip of the near-scalding liquid before settling in for conversation. Jack sat back in his chair, while Ianto perched gingerly on the front edge of the hard chair in front of Jack’s desk. He took a deep breath, then started to speak. It wasn’t easy, he never liked talking for long, but once opened, the floodgates refused to swing shut, the words pouring from him like a dam overflow.

“Not sure where to start, really. I’ve been having trouble sleeping since you left, but it’s been a bit worse these last three weeks.” There was an understatement, if ever he made one. “I can’t fall asleep for hours, my mind won’t rest, but when I do fall asleep, I keep having these dreams - blood, screaming… pain, so much pain.”

“The cannibals? I thought you had pretty much put that behind you?”

“No, not that. Fingers pressed into my head, tearing my brain apart. You--” he choked a little as he described the visions and images that assailed him every night. “--you, chained, beaten. The others, cut down by these… these… flying things, with lasers and knives--”

Jack surged up out of his chair and moved swiftly around his desk, until he was directly in front of Ianto. He dropped to floor, some part of Ianto’s mind noting that the impact with the concrete floor must have hurt like a bitch, before reaching forward and grasping Ianto’s arms tight, his body pressed up hard against Ianto’s legs. The shock of his sudden move cut Ianto off mid-stream.

Jack opened his mouth to speak, but nothing more than a dry rasp escaped. Ianto was surprised to see tears fill Jack’s eyes and spill over, to run unchecked down his cheeks. With a loud sob, Jack dropped his head down on Ianto’s thighs, clutching him like a drowning man. Ianto could do nothing more than look on in dismay as Jack cried, until the urge to comfort overcame the surprise and he lifted his good hand to card through Jack’s hair.

Jack cried for what seemed like hours, but was probably only three or four minutes. Sustained bawling was difficult, Ianto knew. As Jack’s tears quietened, he heard a muffled voice from his lap, with the occasional sniff, as Jack began to speak.

“You shouldn’t see these things. You weren’t supposed to remember any of it - the Doctor promised. Only those left aboard would know what happened.”

“The Valiant?”

Jack raised his tear-stained face and looked at him. “How do you know that?”

“I don’t know. It just… came to me.” He paused, then made the decision to tell Jack everything. “Jack, there’s more.”

The look of despair on Jack’s face was almost too much for him to handle. He tightened the grip he had on Jack’s hair, then smoothed out his hand as he continued the stroking that he’d stopped.

“More?” Jack’s voice was hoarse, scratchy.

“Yep. I… shit, this is hard.” He pulled his hand free from Jack’s hair, ignoring the soft whimper of loss that Jack let out, so he could instead run it through his own hair, pulling on the strands in frustration.

“I think…” He took a deep breath and started again, determined to get the whole sentence out. “I think I died and came back.”

Jack looked sad as he nodded. “Yeah. It wasn’t good. But you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

Ianto shook his head in denial, putting a finger against Jack’s lips when he opened his mouth to argue. “No, not then. Three weeks ago, with Beth Halloran. I think she killed me.”

Jack straightened and stared hard at Ianto, traces of anger and confusion replacing the grief that had dominated his features previously. “You what? And you’re only telling me this now? Explain.”

Ianto flinched at the tone that sharpened Jack’s words. “When she escaped the cryo unit. I was still in the Vaults. I saw the lights flicker briefly and I turned back to look at the units. Her drawer was open and the tray was pushed out. I wasn’t positive without getting closer, but I was pretty sure that she wasn’t lying there anymore.”

“Ianto! You should have called for backup - fuck, you could have been killed!” The irony of the statement seemed to go right over Jack’s head.

“I’m not fucking stupid, Jack. I did try to call, but I’d left my comm. upstairs. I was also unarmed, so I wasn’t planning to investigate any further without backup. I was running for the steps when she got the drop on me. I think she snapped my neck.”

Jack winced. Ianto knew he was aware that death would have been instant, or near enough. He also knew that Jack knew just how much it had fucking _hurt_ when he came back.

“I don’t think she knew she’d done it. Much like the burglars, I suppose. I don’t know how long I was out - I don’t think very long, maybe just a minute or so.”

Jack nodded, the movement slight. “Sounds about right. A clean break like that will heal quickly. Painful as hell, though.”

“Understatement.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” The anger was gone, replaced by hurt.

“I wanted to. You nearly died yourself. I knew you weren’t up to any kind of conversation that night. After that, I rather lost my nerve. That’s when the nightmares started.”

Jack pushed himself to his feet and started pacing. Ianto watched quietly - he knew that Jack would speak once he’d processed all the information he’d just heard. He wasn’t totally sure his nerves were up to the task of waiting, but knowing that he’d finally unburdened himself gave him at least a small measure of peace.

“Ianto, I’m not convinced that you died.” Jack held up a hand as Ianto opened his mouth to protest. “I’m sure you think so, and I’m not dismissing it out of hand. It’s just… it’s not something I’d want for you. This isn’t a joyride. It’s a curse.”

Ianto nodded slowly. He could understand Jack’s reticence and dismay. He knew the other man was miserable and lonely more often than not, watching those he loved die or move on. He also knew that Jack was serious about not wanting anybody else to suffer the same fate.

“Fair point. Look, I can’t prove it either, without stepping in front of a bullet or a car, not something I’m willing to try. I checked the CCTV in the vaults - I was hoping to see something that disproved my theory, but the cameras went out with the power surge.”

“Okay. Let’s take a look at your hand for now. We can have Owen run some tests later, if you think it might help.” Jack came back to stand in front of Ianto, holding out his hand to help him to his feet. Ianto let himself be pulled upright, even though it meant standing chest to chest with Jack, something he’d been avoiding for weeks. He leaned in and gave Jack a light kiss, barely catching the corner of his mouth. He could feel Jack’s breath stutter, and his heartbeat increase.

Pulling back slightly, he looked at Jack carefully. He noted that Jack had closed his eyes, his face relaxing for the first time in weeks into a small smile. His own heart started to pound a little harder at the sight. He gave himself a mental shake. It was time to let go of the old hurts and let Jack back into his life. There was no point denying his feelings any longer. His body reacted on automatic whenever they were close, and his mind was obviously trundling along behind eagerly. His heart, he knew, had long since surrendered.

“Autopsy bay, Captain. My hand?” He tugged lightly at their grasped hands, pulling Jack out of his trance. A bright smile graced his face.

“Lead the way, Mr Jones.” The smile morphed into a flirtatious smirk. Ianto rolled his eyes in resignation and walked towards the door of the office, still holding Jack’s hand. They made their way quickly to the medical area, Jack following Ianto like an obedient puppy. As soon as they entered the bay, however, his demeanour changed, becoming more serious.

Before Jack could say a word, Ianto started to unwrap the dressing, prepared to plunge his hand under water if the bleeding started again. A small portion of his brain noted that it didn’t hurt, not really. He wondered if he’d done some damage to the nerves. God, he hoped not. He was rather fond of having both hands in good working order, not to mention he’d be a useless field agent with only one decent hand. He enjoyed being out in the field and didn’t relish being relegated to the background once again.

As the bloody gauze fell away, he closed his eyes briefly, steeling his nerves. He opened and looked down, then lifted his hand closer to his face to check that he wasn’t seeing things.

“Jack… I think I might have proof that I died.” It was either that, or he wasn’t Ianto Jones anymore, but some miraculously healed pod person, or something. Where before there had been a deep slash across his palm, nothing but smears of dried blood and slightly pink skin remained. Not even a scab or a scar.

He held his hand up to show Jack, who had turned at his words. He watched as emotions chased themselves across Jack’s features: surprise, hurt, dismay, and lastly hope, as he concluded that Ianto was alive, possibly forever. He made a grab for the hand, and pulled it close to his face. Ianto could see the cogs turning in his brain as he contemplated the meaning of the healed palm.

“How deep was the cut?”

“Deep enough I thought it would be a good idea for Owen to look at, not deep enough to call for help. Bled like a bastard, though.” He held up the bloody wad of gauze as proof. “This is the second dressing - I had to replace it after I showered. It was still bleeding at that point.”

“Okay. This is not a theory we are testing, is that clear? You are to remain vigilant and protect yourself. I don’t want you doing anything stupid, like pushing me out of the way if something goes wrong.” Jack was the Head of Torchwood as he spoke, which instantly raised the hackles on Ianto’s neck.

“Jesus, Jack, I already told you I’m not fucking stupid. I also told you I’m not willing to put this theory to a practical test. Give me some credit, please.”

Jack’s voice remained implacable as he spoke over Ianto. “I know you aren’t stupid, Ianto. I also know your propensity for looking out for others. I just want you to be careful.” His voice softened. “I don’t like seeing you hurt. I already watched you die once, I don’t want to see it again.”

Ianto blanched as Jack finished. “You’re talking about… the Valiant, aren’t you? Those nightmares are real? Fuck.”

Jack winced as he realised what he’d said. “Shit, I didn’t… I wasn’t… oh hell... yeah, it was real. It happened.”

“The others? I see them killed in my dreams. Is that true, too?”

“Yeah, all of it. I think we need to sit down so I can explain what happened. I also need to… no, maybe not. I’ll talk to Martha instead, see if she has any ideas.”

“Martha… Martha Jones? I remember that name. Why do I remember that name?”

“She walked the Earth. Nobody is supposed to remember that. Look, I’ll tell you about it later. Meanwhile, I think you need to talk to Owen about this not-sleeping business. I need you alert in the field, Ianto. You’re no good to me or the team if you fall asleep on your feet.”

“I’ll talk to him when he comes in. What about this other issue?” Ianto didn‘t really want to talk about the possibility of dying, or not dying, with Owen just yet. A good night‘s sleep would go a long way towards readying his mind for that conversation.

“Might be best if we left it for now. I’ll have Tosh go over that CCTV footage and see if there is any way she can pull the images. If there is, then we’ll have to let the rest of the team know. It’s only fair.”

“Okay. Thanks. I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner. I just didn’t know what to say.”

“No secrets, Ianto. We decided that a long time ago. You come and talk to me, anytime, if you need to.”

Ianto decided it was now or never. He stepped closer, aligning his body against Jack’s. “Just talk, Jack?”

He watched Jack’s face morph from surprise to pleasure. His heart beat a little faster as Jack’s arms slid around to hold him tight about the waist. He could feel Jack’s cock stir against his own, which did nothing for his own state of arousal.

“Ianto, you can see me for anything you want, anytime.”

Ianto leaned in and fit his lips to Jack’s, pushing his tongue against the seam and worming his way inside the warm, wet heat of Jack’s mouth. As the kiss, their first in more time than Ianto cared to work out, grew more heated, his heart sang in relief and happiness. No matter what happened next - the insomnia, talking to Owen, the possibility of mortality issues - he would work through the problems with Jack. It wouldn’t be easy, and more than likely wouldn’t be fun, but one way or another, it would definitely be worth it.


End file.
